Leaving Santa Fe by Shuttle

Last Edit March 12, 1999

Should have known that I couldn't take a trip without total chaos ensuing somewhere. So when we scheduled the business trip to Santa Fe for the Educational Training Services Offsite, I had my normal amount of fear and intrepidation.
Good instincts.
It was a good conference. Team building between Customer Education and Internal Technical Training. We cooked. We sang. I participated in an egg-drop contest - my team sang a marketing ditty. I don't believe I did that.
We had a session on Performance Excellence. She brought out the "dead Moose" - you know, that thing that lays around and no one wants to touch. Only these were beanbag mooses. Or Meeses as they became called.
I have two. One for me, one for my 17 year old. (Now that I'm home, he sleeps with it. Along with the big white valentines bear I got him. During times of stress, hug the bear.)
It's OK. Mine's in my bed too.
Better than sleeping alone.
Only one way to evict it.
We won't go there!
We had 1:1 intense course development meetings and group process flow meetings and full group sessions.
It was a very good offsite. A lot of work got done. A lot of networking - which is what these things are for. And a lot of plans for future work.
We even had an award dinner. I now have a digital camera. One more toy to learn how to use. Plugs into the NT. Plugs into the Mac. Ha!
But, when Friday came around, it was time to go home! There comes a time...
The originally scheduled shuttle - which we never rode on - was in financial trouble and was also suffering from impounded vehicles. Seems there had been a wreck the week before (two dead) and then the state had done inspections (nine vans off the road for a week) and then their banker had impounded two tour busses.
Scratch that plan. They had been our scheduled transportation.
So we were booked on another one.
Now, I had come to town with a co-corker and we had hooked another shuttle from the airport rather than wiat for the booked ride - a one hour haul across the barren stretches of Indian Country. Where you can drive in a straight line for an hour with no curve to the road. I hadn't seen that in awhile. Route 66 was like that when I drove my 64 Beetle from Connecticut to Santa Monica. In 1964.
The trip in to Sante Fe was uneventful. Like I like them to be.
So today, we are going back with the same shuttle company. I recognize the driver. He recognizes me. I am fussy about the computer case. Handle it like a carton of eggs. It has the 3400C and the digital camera in it.
He puts it in a trailer to be towed behind the van. There are two vans. 13 of us traveling. We now discover that risk management has not been used. One incident and the whole department is wiped out.
This is good.
We load up.
We try to.
Seems we have other people on our van - and one or two have decided to take a stroll.
Be aware that the van is late in arriving. Very late. 30 minutes worth. Which means it will be a race at the airport. And people with computers in po-dunk airports are not efficiently handled.
OK.
We get all but one re-loaded.
And here she finally comes, strolling out of the hotel.
You're right.
The bimbo.
All smiles and flirting with the driver and joking, she finally gets settled.
We roll.
The other van has already rolled out. We have some of their luggage.
But wait, we need to stop.
The driver pulls into a gas station (gas?) then opens the door and beams at us. You have to see this man, beard, long and thin, like an old time prospector.
"Fire Drill."
It takes us a minute as we try to figure - are we on fire? In a gas station? Who climbs over who?
No, he just "can't pump up the tire".
So we clamber out. Not an easy thing to do. I am glad I am in my size 16 (two sizes too big) cords and a tee shirt and a jacket and a double coat - we are in snow. 6" so far.
We get out.
He tries.
No joy.
We get back in and go to another gas station.
At this point, the Performance Excellence instructor climbs out, her cell phone is in a "dead area" [haven't they fixed that crap yet?] and she heads for a pay phone to see about her flight which is before ours.
You guessed it.
The Bimbo decides to get out too.
We get to stay in while the driver adds a bottle of tire fixit and pumps up the tire - or attempts too. He gives up - we will go as is. I am now fretting that the trailor door didn't seem secure. Will we spill stuff onto the highway? I wish the computer was with me.
Now we need the instructor - who is coming down to us - and the bimbo - who is waving as if we were going to drive this big long van and trailer around a tight driveway and come and get her.
The driver has to walk her back.
I threaten to put her on the roof. There are three of us in the back seat of this long van. A woman from HR, and my female co-worker from Internal Technical Training. We are squished and getting hostile.
The bimbo and her buddy, a shaved-headed young man, have the air turned off and the back windows are fogging up. We ask for air.
We get no response.
I lean forward and I threaten to throw up. Sets the tone for the rest of the trip!
Works like a charm. We get some air. Not much. But we can breathe.
It's now a long, nerve-wracking trip back to the airport in Albuquerque. One hour. We count off the flights we are missing. I continue fretting about the trailor.
We arrive at the airport on the dot - my flight time - and of course, this time, America West is actually ON TIME. How unique. So we have no plane.
We also have a lot of luggage from the people on the other van.
We begin to sort it by recognizable name. I have my boss' . I haven't figured this out fully. Do I travel with his and mine? How do I reach him later? Did he fly? What about the others/ Can we handle all this? Do we have it all? We do some fussing. We will play by ear. The plane we have no clue what will happen with that. Luggage first. Counter second.
Low and behold, here come my boss and another member of ETS, after their luggage. They didn't trust us. I am glad they didn't.
OK. Now what.
There are seven who have missed the flight. No, six. My boss has a different and later flight since his tickets had been flubbed in the first place. He's OK. two-thirds of his staff are not.
We make it to the counter. I have a redcap for that distance. Minimize the abdominal strain.
The counter people are from hell.
They can't understand what happened. They can't find another flight.
They can't read their screen codes.
They insist we can be on "stand-by" and make the flight. Or one does and another argues.
I've seen this recently. They overbook. Always. Remember the $500 voucher from the New York trip? I do. "No stand-by," I say. "You'll get on," they say. "Like bl;oody hell," I am thinking.
"It will cost you."
"We will pay." We have credit cards. Some of us. And two corporate cards.
They still can't find a flight. There are three of them at it now.
After about 30 minutes of this crap I am running out of what little remnants of patience I have. I am starting to snap. Not a good thing. I can get caustic. I am trying to keep it inside.
Our Performance instructor, who was on a United flight originally (different destination), has a standby on United and says that they have seats. It is obvious that America West is getting no where.
The group moves.
I am stuck waiting for a skycap.
And waiting.
And waiting.
The America West counter staff says they have called.
I have cash. I am tipping well. Their loss.
Finally my boss comes and drags me down to United's counter. Well, he drags my big suitcase, not me.
The man at the United counter is confused for a moment. He thought at first that he was going to credit the America West ticket - which meant stand-by.
No. We want to be home NOW.
Oh. That's a DIFFERENT story.
He has seats. All the way through. We can change planes in Denver. Get home at MIDNIGHT. Originally, I would have been home in time to get my son from work. SEVEN.
I've never been to Denver. I have heard about it. I wonder about my luggage. My medication is in the computer case. That's with me. I'll survive.
$1800 for three tickets. By now, two others have decided to stay the night and party and fly out on their America West ticket in the morning. THey figure it will cost the same. Nice to be young. I want my son. My house. My bed. The other two remaining want out now as well.
So, three of us now have a ride home. A very expensive ride home. On my boss's credit card.
We get ice cream. We go to a bar. I have a virgin Mary - need the vegetables. The others have something stronger. I am contemplating it.
We have 90 minutes to boarding time - and the gate attendant is the same man who sold us the United tickets. He had warned us he would be there. (We had asked him if he flew the plane too. He said not until they check out his arm. I didn't ask.) He was very good. He lightened us up with humourous stories. Give this man a gold star.
The first leg, it's a short flight - we get water. It's now six hours of travel time and we are no closer home.
In Denver, there is ice on the wings when we land. I am watching this. I've had pilot's training. I don't like ice on the wings. Denver is that new thing. It is a BIG airport. Fortunately, we don't have to walk that far. They have rolling walkways - some just 20 feet long. You can thread your way from one to another. Good signs. Good directions. Else they would need guide dogs.
I have help carrying my computer bag (thank goodness) since I had checked the wheels. And I am getting tired.
The next flight for us is not far off - a short wait - and this time we are all together in the very back seat. The last seats open. It's a full flight and first we have to go get de-iced. United appologizes for the delay! It is slush on the runway. Snow blowing over the wings. Big airports can handle ice.
Good. We needed it. To be handled with care.
We are one notch below explosive. Us, not the plane.
On this flight, I decide I will have that bottle of French wine. ($4.00) and I will eat food. I have been 12 hours without my Medifast.
I also drink water - a lot of it. Because we were dehydrated BEFORE we got on a plane and planes dehydrate you.
By the time I land, I am totally focused on one thing right after finding a rest room. Getting HOME. We get my big case off the luggage rack and I get it on its wheels. The computer case is nestled on its wheels with the bungie cords through the handles. No repeat falling apart tricks.
And I take off for the parking shuttle like a deamon. No skycap in sight. And no passenger to help me, I drag the case onto the floor of the parking lot shuttle. (Two-handed lift and legs are good for this. And I take my time.)
I get to my truck. I parked it near "38" - Fabio's age. How I remembered it. I pivot the thing into the truck, carefully place the computer case with it, ditch my ski jackets and head home.
I try to stay under 80MPH. Hard since that's what traffic is doing.
11:30PM I get home - to an annoyed 17 year old (he claims he wasn't worried but later on he slept with the dead moose). He gets to carry in the luggage.
Four days later and I am still exhausted.
And I am quick to say so.
I've decided I really don't like to travel. Not without my large son.
Fabio can go to Virginia without me! I hate roller coasters too!
And here comes the RT convention!
Just not on America West.
And next time, I take a cab in. And I rent a car when I get there.
Maybe it's time for a personal assistant. Or a boyfriend.
On second thought....